


The Way We Wish Things Were

by Origingirl



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: Feels, Fluff and Humor, Golden Age, M/M, Pre-War, Rating May Change, Romantic Fluff, damus is a huge flirt, fuck tons of it, orion is a flustered dork
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-13
Updated: 2017-12-13
Packaged: 2019-02-14 06:44:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13002105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Origingirl/pseuds/Origingirl
Summary: After a particularly stressful time at the Hall of Records, Orion treats himself to a night out in the city of Uraya. He was expecting to go someplace where he can take his mind off of life for a while in solitude, but what he finds is a friend in the most unlikely mech, and that he and Damus may have more in common than meets the eye.---Set during the waning years of the "Golden Age".





	The Way We Wish Things Were

**Author's Note:**

  * For [brokenEisenglas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/brokenEisenglas/gifts).



> To the person who I'm gifting this to: Oh. My. GOD! After eons and eons of promise it's finally complete! Enjoy your rare-pare fam! <3  
> \---  
> To everyone else who happens to read this: ...I mean if you like this paring too, more power to you! Enjoy <3

Being a mech who enjoyed his down time, Orion never partook in evening entertainment such as bars or clubs often, but tonight was different. Tonight marked the end of a rather _strenuous_ orbital cycle of cataloging and meetings at the Record Hall. On top of work, he also continued to chat regularly with the Gladiator known as Megatronus, which was just another mental tally to keep track of. The archivist was _so_ drowsy from simply having to _stay put_ at Iacon day in-day out for the past stellar-cycle that he’d convinced himself to acquire a change of scenery, and purchased a speedliner ticket to Uraya. It wasn’t horrifically far away, but it wasn’t the closest city either and Orion didn’t want to risk damaging the alignment work he’d recently had done on his wheels. He was just about to clock out and head up to the station when he’d crossed paths with Jazz, one of his oldest comrades. 

“Hey, Orion!” Jazz called out to his friend as he walked up the steps of the Hall of Records to greet him. “How ya been? We haven’t talked in quite some time.”

Orion smiled as Jazz approached and clasped servos with him in a welcoming handshake. “They have me on tight reins. That much hasn’t changed.”

“Poor mech.” Jazz chuckled whilst walking with Orion. “Not even close to off-cycle either. I’d have half a processor to issue you a ticket for overworking your circuitry.”

“No need to worry your dear spark.” Orion rolled his optics, grateful of how Jazz could lighten any mood with a few simple words. 

“You should talk with Trion. See if he could get ya more merciful groons. You’re one of his favorites, right?”

“As much as I’m certain Alpha Trion would grant me that request, I do not wish to burden him with such a minor inconvenience. Any hardships of stress an archivist is prone to on the job is double that for the master archivist, don’t you think?”

“Aw, c’mon Orion.” Jazz stressed as he watched his friend swipe a data chip across the time schedule monitor to clock out. “You’re one o’ the hardest working bots on Cybertron! Dedicated, punctual – I don’t see why Trion wouldn’t allow you less stress-causing groons.”

Orion slipped the data chip he used for time records into his subspace before replying with a sigh. “I’m a _senior_ archivist, Jazz. If anything, Alpha Trion places his utmost trust in me to accomplish what needs to be accomplished and take on any challenges that may arise with swift precision. If it means aiding my mentor in any way, I will gladly put in the extra groons needed.”

 _“Oh, my.”_ Jazz shook his head, dramatically posing with his servo to his forehelm. “The ever noble Orion Pax, taking on the worlds tribulations with an iron spark! Such a mournful fate for a kind and compassionate mech!”

“Cut it out!” Orion laughed, jokingly shoving Jazz to the side as he walked down the steps of the Hall. “For your information, I plan to enjoy a solitary evening in Uraya.”

Jazz gasped sarcastically as he followed his comrade. “ _I can’t believe it_. You actually came to the realization of how much you need a break _all by yourself_? Impressive!” He smirked.

“Alright, alright. I understand that I have a tendency to ignore self-care on account of my schedule. _You_ on the other hand seem to be my polar opposite in that regard at times.”

“Orion!” Jazz pretended to be offended, putting a servo to his chest plate. “I’m spark broken you’d say such a thing!” He said, and then laughed as he patted his friend on the shoulder plate.

The archivist couldn’t help grin and laugh along. Jazz’s humorous personality was simply too contagious to not to. “What are you doing here anyways?”

“Eh, ya know. Just dropping off some files at the Iacon Police Station.”

“Oh? Any interesting cases?”

“Naw, nothin’ like that, just routine check-in stuff. But, Primus, I wish. I’m itching for action these days! It’s so quiet around the office, everyone’s just _behaving_ themselves.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?” Orion mused.

“I _guess_ so.” Jazz rolled his optics. 

Orion was unable to cease his laughter as they walked to the speenliner station. He truly values friends like Jazz – ones he was simply able to joke around with. It was a breath of fresh air from the majority of bots who populated Iacon no doubt. 

“Thank you for accompanying me, Jazz.” Orion said, stepping onto the liner platform. “It’s always a pleasure talking with you. And good luck with, well, bots behaving themselves and the like.”

“Guess I shouldn’t complain when you’re the one who has to categorize all the documents I write up and send off.”

Orion was about to respond when the final call bell for the speedliner rang throughout the platform. “Sorry to make this short.”

Jazz waved a servo in dismissal. “You just focus on having one hell of an evening. Who knows? Maybe you’ll _meet_ someone.”

“Jazz!”

“What? I’m just sayin’.” 

“If I do, I shall avoid mentioning it to you. Primus knows you’ll have a _field day_ with such news.”

“Damn right I will!” Jazz called out as the speedliner began to move.

Orion sighed in amusement at Jazz’s final remark as he took his seat. He knows he should make more of an effort to contact his friends and felt guilty for not doing so, but he also knows that all of them would in turn wave his guilt off as a pointless endeavor and remind him that the very concept of having friends is to associate with those who understand and not judge you for any hardships you may encounter. That’s the last “what are friends for” lecture he’d gotten from Ironhide, anyways.

Orion glanced above the window of the liner that read off all the stops and times for this evening.

_**.::DESTINATION – URAYA.::.TIME REMAINING – 2 BREEMS::.** _

There was an energon cooler across from him of which he helped himself to, selecting a small cube of low grade. It’d be best, he thought, if he prepared his tanks for the _entertainment_ he’d be partaking in tonight and everyone who has ever drank high grade knows not to drink on a dry tank.

As he sipped his drink his thoughts drifted to Jazz’s not-so-subtle comment about _meeting_ someone. Personally, Orion found himself to be too busy to spare time for such a commitment. However, he had realized from Jazz’s expression with much unamusement that when he’d said _meet_ someone, he by no means meant it in context with anything _long term_. 

Truthfully, Orion wasn’t _repulsed_ by the implication, rather he had never given much thought to the subject.

Would he feel comfortable in that situation? Would he be ok exposing himself – even if it was strictly plugging in – to a bot that he would only chat with over a drink once and never see again? It wasn’t the interface part as much as it was the element of _initiation and trust_. How could one trust a mech they’d just met with their ports, spike, and valve? The level of vulnerability he’d have to reach to give such trust made Orion physically cringe. He’d indulged in pleasures behind closed doors on his own from time to time and was by no means a prude, but self-indulging and experiencing the same pleasures with another – let alone a bot you’d only meet in passing – were two completely different scenarios that required a completely different means of confidence in allowing one’s self to be vulnerable. 

Orion set the cube down on his seats armrest and closed his optics. Would he, given enough time to think an entire scenario like that over in his processor, be ok with it? Was all he required the right mech to catch his eye?

 _‘Primus’_ , he thought to himself. _‘I suppose I’ll never know if I don’t_ allow _myself to experience such a thing.’_

His thoughts were cut short as the speedliner comm. announcement sounded throughout the cabin Orion was situated in.

_**.::Arrived at destination – Uraya.::.All passengers proceeding to Uraya – Exit speedliner now::.** _

_**.::Thank you for choosing Central Iacon Transport::.** _

_**.::This company is sponsored by the Cybertronian Functionalist Society – Remember, every form serves a purpose!::.** _

**********

Although Uraya was located towards the planets equator, Orion could still see the faint glimmer of Six Lasers amusement park shining on the horizon due north as he stepped off of the speedliner platform. As he began to walk the streets of the city, Orion felt the tension he experienced any time he left Iacon that spelled in big bold glyphs, _o-u-t-s-i-d-e-r_. Even if Uraya was known to be a city that did not submit to caste culture as fiercely as other cities at Cybertron’s north and south poles, bots here still held a bit of bitterness towards those above them in caste ranking. It should be no surprise to Orion that judging by the fact he had recently applied fresh paint to his plating, he received many unfriendly glances from mechs and femmes that passed him by. There were others here like him, no doubt, but not as many as there were bots of lower caste rankings. Despite the slight discomfort Orion trudged on, determined to drown himself in serenity and high grade on the rare occasion when his schedule permitted him enough time to do so.

Because of the fact that Uraya didn’t strongly subscribe to Cybertron’s widely embraced Functionalist ideology, the city wasn’t necessarily on the top of government’s to-do list in terms of upkeep. However, those who lived here and sheltered themselves from the propaganda that was displayed on screens in every sector of the planet took pride in escaping the functionalists vice grip, making an effort to keep the city as nice and clean as they could. As a result, Uraya was a magnet for lower caste bots hoping to escape the grimy lifestyles they were forced to lead in the cities where they worked. It also attracted mid-caste bots looking to rid themselves of their stagnant jobs even if only for the evening. In a way, it was one of the few cities – if not, the only city – on the planet that truly had _culture_. Orion himself didn’t quite know how to describe it in any particular way, but life in Iacon had a _lag_ of sorts. Even if life continued on per usual, there was always a certain drowsiness that couldn’t be shook. It felt like a massive smog cloud hanging over everyone’s head that wasn’t showing any signs of clearing up anytime soon. Unlike any other city, Uraya was never caught having a dull moment. The city was _vibrating_ with life breathed into it from all the shops, bars, occasional events, and lights that streamed the streets and sidewalks. It was one of the few places on Cybertron that appeared purely _joyful_ , too – an oasis of activity and escape away from the dry, bland feeling of day to day life surrounding it. Orion didn’t feel as strongly begrudged towards the system as others of lower castes, but he’d have to have malfunctioning optics to _not_ see how plain life was outside Uraya’s colorful aura. 

Orion pulled up a visual map on his internal monitor as he stopped at an intersection, wanting to know where the most optimal establishment closest to him was located. The map pinged with three nearby bar locations within walking distance and 17 within driving distance.

 _‘Seventeen?! Uraya certainly lives up to its expectations. Either that, or they’ve opened more bars than they have shops since the last time I’ve visited’_. Orion thought to himself. He selected the second recommendation within walking distance and proceeded to the route. Upon arrival, Orion discovered that this bar was below ground level and had a stairway leading to a dimly lit door.

 _'Strange. I’ve never seen a bar location set up in such a manner’_. He thought, approaching the staircase with a tad bit of caution. It looked harmless, but perhaps there was a reason this bar was located where it was located. There was the off chance that it was one of the more particular establishments with certain _unwritten rules_ that discriminated against higher or lower castes, or maybe it was a ‘members only’ type deal. If either were the case Orion highly doubted it would appear on his map, with a subsection of many good reviews no doubt. He was probably just paranoid as a result of being pent up in Iacon for such a long time only to displace himself in a different environment. 

Waving off his slight uncertainty, Orion walked down the staircase and in front of the door. He expected to be able to feel the bass music thrumming across the floor that was usually played at every bar at this hour, but this was not the case. In fact, he could _barely_ make out what sounded like a slow, smooth melody that upon entering through the metal threshold was revealed to be what was called “lofi” if he remembered correctly – an off-world genre. It was very alluring, as was the interior of the bar. It was standard in its set up, consisting of a long countertop with stools that stretched from one end of the room to the other in the back, and booths along the side walls with a couple of tables and chairs in the center. Standard as it was however, it had character. The rustic themed décor of the place along with the post-modern lighting strips on the ceiling and walls gave off a relaxed and balanced feeling. 

There were few bots inhabiting this particular bar and the bots that were seated seemed to have an easygoing sense about them. Orion decided that he couldn’t have picked a better place for this evening. While he didn’t particularly mind the slightly too loud music and chattering mechs and femmes that were present at all other bars he’d been to, for the purpose of relaxing and winding down, this bar was a novelty. The best part was that no one looked at his newly polished paint with distain like so many others have each time he’d visited Uraya. He closed the door and walked across the room to take a seat at the far right end of the counter and sighed. Perhaps this was a _special_ bar where everyone was keen on minding their own business and loosing themselves in crystal glasses. _Perfect_. 

The music was _so_ alluring that the archivist didn’t even realize that the bartender had approached him until he spoke up – though, he didn’t need to raise his voice all that much seeing how there wasn’t much noise crowding the atmosphere to begin with.

“Good evening.” He greeted.

Orion’s optics flared for a nano-second as he turned his helm to the bartender in mild shock. “Ah, hello. My apologize. I must have zoned out.”

The bartender chuckled, waving off Orion’s apology. “You wouldn’t be the first. Bots who come here tend to be in such a mentally beat state. Combine that fact with the tracks we play and it’s impossible to not doze off.” He said, reaching below the counter to pull out a standard crystal glass as well as a small, thin tablet and then place them in front of Orion. 

Orion picked up the tablet, which revealed itself to be a menu once switched on. Scrolling through it, he found there were many more options than any other bar he’d gone to in the past.

“Quite the selection.”

“Yup. Lotta different people like a lotta different tastes, so we add to it when we can.”

“How considerate. And you have the supplies to make _all_ of these?”

“Most of the items include a bunch of the same ingredients anyways, so it’s no trouble to add another formula here and there.”

Orion nodded, browsing the menu in depth from top to bottom – all 35 drink and gel options. “Pardon me saying this, but with the amount of bots currently inhabiting this bar, it seems unlikely that there would be enough to include this many.”

“Nah, no worries. You’ve just come at a low time, that’s all.”

“Low time?”

“Yeah. Most bots who are regulars here are crowded with their jobs at this time of stellar-cycle. Barely have time for themselves on their off-shifts, much less traveling of any kind be it off-world or out of city.”

“I must say, though my own line of work is tedious during this time, it’s never to the point where I can’t spare a moment.”

“And what might be your line of work, might I ask?”

“I’m a senior archivist at the Iacon Hall of Records.”

 _“Senior_ archivist? Wow.” The bartender commented, extending the ‘w’ at the beginning of the word. “Been there a while, huh?”

Orion sighed, setting the menu down and resting his chin in his servos. “Yes.”

“I can imagine. The regulars here are nowhere _near_ your caste.”

“Must be why they can’t spare much time.”

“Exactly.” The bartender said, leaning on the countertop with one arm. “See anything ya like?”

“Quite a few things, actually. How do you expect me to choose?” Orion mused.

The bartender laughed, shrugging as he responded, “Pick your top three, and I’ll surprise ya?”

“Dealers choice, hm? Sounds fun.” Orion smiled. “It’s between numbers 2, 19, and 25.”

“Pretty diverse options! What’s your designation by the way?”

“Orion. Orion Pax.”

The bartender extended a servo to politely shake Orion’s. “The name’s Shield. Pleasure to meet ya, Pax. I’ll have that right up for you in a moment.” Shield said, and then turned his back towards the counter to fetch the ingredients for Orion’s order. 

The archivist sat patiently awaiting his drink, all the while taking a more in depth glance at the bars’ interior. Without being too obvious Orion counted the number of bots in the room, which added up to 12 excluding himself – three sets of two seated in booths, a party of four conversing quietly at one table, and two individuals seated at their own tables, which left the countertop vacant (which Orion was grateful for). 

About half were Dexter frame types like his own (only a little larger), and the other half were a mix of standard labor frames and public service frames, like Shields. Without meaning to, Orion picked up on some of the side conversations from those sitting in the booths and from the party of four seated at the table. It was mostly talk of work, life, and little things like upcoming events, dates, and plans. Orion felt a wave of melancholy wash over him as he listened to the groups chat. He really should make keeping in touch with friends more of a priority, be them his close friends like Jazz or his co-workers like Ariel. He supposed that because of the nature of his work he never really felt the ushering need to socialize much. He was perfectly content with his job, but maybe – the more he thought about it – that was just the problem. Most times, Orion is simply _content_ – never overtly joyous or saddened, but just… content. Although he wasn’t bothered by that fact necessarily, he sometimes secretly wished he had a reason to emote more often and more potently than he does.

His thoughts were a rambling mess in his processor and he once again failed to notice Shield approach him.

“Primus. You really are out of it, huh?”

Orion shook his helm briefly to gain his sense of reality back before responding, “I suppose so. Sorry.”

“Would you quit that? Ya got nothin’ to be sorry for, Pax.” Shield assured him, placing his drink in front of him. “Besides, sometimes zoning out is necessary, ya know?”

Orion simultaneously nodded and gazed down at the drink on awe. “Looks extravagant.”

Shield grinned with confidence. “Damn right. #19 – _The Atonomizer_ ; refined high grade with a mercury base and extra crystals, topped with light rust grains and titanium leafs…” he paused to drop a straw into the cup, “…with a curly straw, of course.”

Orion laughed. “The most important aspect of the formula no doubt.”

“You got that right. Simply isn’t the same experience with a plain, straight one.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

Just as Orion was about to take a sip, he heard the door to the bar swish open and reveal a large mech with _tank treads_ on his back that resembled a grand cape of sorts from the way the light outside silhouetted them. Shield looked up and smiled whilst waving him over. Orion assumed this was because the mech was one of the regulars. As he walked up to the countertop, Orion caught the sideways gaze the mech gave him, which – unbeknownst to the archivist – was one of interest.

“Damus! Finally able to spear an evening, eh?”

Damus placed a servo on the counter, rolling his optics with sarcasm. “Finally? I do believe my last appearance at this establishment was just a deca-cycle ago, Shield.”

“Ha. Just joking, my mech. The usual, I take it?”

Damus took a moment and glanced at the drink in front of Orion, and then Orion himself before humming in thought. He nodded to himself, then looked back at Shield and replied, “I’ll have what he’s having.”

Orions’ antennae twitched once with curiosity as to what he possessed that made Damus instantly aware of him with interest. The same antennae lowered slightly as Damus casually took a seat on the stool directly next to him. 

“Alrighty.” Shield said, and then disappeared behind a door at the end of the countertop to fetch what Orion presumed to be another bottle of whatever ingredient Shield needed more of to re-make the Atonomizer – leaving him alone with Damus in the process.

A moment of brief silence passed between the two mechs before Damus turned to the side and gestured to Orions’ drink. “Looked to be such a novelty, I couldn’t help but indulge.”

“That was my original impression of it, too.”

“Great minds think alike.” Damus said, grinning.

Orion’s ventilation halted for a nano-second as a result of getting caught off guard by the sudden compliment (as well as the mechs charmingly rugged smile).

“Can’t argue with that.” Orion said, taking his first sip from his own neglected drink. His sensors lit up with a pleasant, electrifying sweetness that was subtle, yet enjoyable all the same. His expression must have conveyed how much he was loving the taste, because he heard a light chuckle from the tankformer next to him. 

“Gratifying, I take it?”

“Delightful would be a more accurate description.”

“I believe it.”

Shield then entered the room with three bottles of various liquids, set them down, and began to prepare another Atonomizer.

“Must be a popular drink if you ran out of ingredients.” Damus commented.

“Yeah, #19’s definitely up there.”

“Next to what?” Orion asked.

“Oh… lets see, #19, 34, 5, 15, and 10 are normally the top 5 picks on a regular basis, but only by so much. Bots that come here love all the drinks and don’t discriminate.” Shield shrugged. He added the titanium leafs and inserted the curly straw as the finishing touch before handing it to Damus.

Damus nodded at Shield in gratitude before facing Orion, holding up his drink. “To good health, even though that topic is debatable among most castes now a day.”

Orion wasn’t sure what Damus meant by that statement, but toasted nonetheless. “To much needed time off as well.”

 _“Oh, yes._ I’ll toast to that any day.” Damus laughed, taking a sip of his own drink and humming in delight at the soft, sweet taste.

“Is it to your liking?”

 _“Very much so_. I believe I’ll have to consider ranking this my new favorite. You have good taste… er-”

“Orion Pax.” He said with a smile, extending a warm servo. “A pleasure to meet you.”

Damus mirrored his smile and shook Orion’s servo in turn. “The pleasure is all _mine.”_ He said. His optics flared briefly, making his previously subtle interest in Orion obvious, and Orion completely ignored the warm feeling on his faceplate it resulted in.

“So, _Orion_ , what brings a shiny-plated mech like you to city such as Uraya?” Damus asked, sipping his drink once more as he awaited Orion’s reply.

Orion laughed, feeling much more relaxed from Damus’s humorous personality. “Honestly? I haven’t been out of city for an entire orbital cycle. Tonight, I seek to relax and get a bit tipsy with any luck.”

 _“Orbital cycle?_ My, my, that’s quite some time. I do hope your job provides some relief to pass the groons quicker.”

“To an extent. I work as a senior archivist at the Iacon Hall of Records.”

“Ah, Iacon. I believe that explains your noble color scheme and gleaming plates.”

“Well, I thought it wouldn’t hurt to _spruce up_ a bit before an evening out.” Orion said, shrugging. “Then again, ‘nicer looking’ bots tend to receive the less-friendly glances in mixed-caste areas such as this. Perhaps I should have reconsidered.”

“Nonsense.” Damus said, giving Orion’s frame a quick once-over. “I think you look quite pristine.”

“Even so. Some bots may misconceive it as showing off.”

“Well…” Damus placed his drink on the countertop and leaned forward slightly. “Not all lower caste mechs think like that. I must be at least three castes lower that your own and when I look at you, I don’t see a mech who wants to flaunt their privilege around like some trophy; rather, I see a lovely frame with rather _unique_ accents.”

“I… I see.” Orion stuttered – something he never does. He feels the warmth on his faceplate only continue to expand. Orion flat out refuses to acknowledge how rapidly he’s growing fond of the tankformer. Yet, he feels obligated to return the compliment.

“You aren’t so… bedraggled yourself.” _‘Come now, Orion._ That’s _the best you could think of?’_

 _“Really_ now?” Damus said, his voice riddled with curiosity and amusement, his frame leaning a bit further towards Orion on the stool and countertop.

Orion couldn’t help but look to the side with Damus’s gaze being so attentive and dare he say almost _intimate_ to a degree.

“Yes, really.” He paused, attempting to come up with a more thoughtful compliment. “Your treads are…” _‘Nice? Tactful? Stylish? No, none of those would do much aside from make you look like even more of a dunce’_. “They’re quite the addition, and compliment the rest of you… your frame, I mean.” _‘Quite the addition?’ You’ve outdone yourself, Orion’_. The archivist proceeded to mentally bang his helm against a wall. He was normally an expert when it came to carrying out wholesomely refined conversations even if they were with bots he’d just met. Why was this time different? What about a conversation with this particular mech threw Orion off guard to the point where the most thoughtful compliment he could produce was _quite the addition_? He expected Damus to subtly laugh at him, which he did, but it wasn’t the type of laugh that held mockery or condescendence; rather it was one of pure amusement and joy.

“Quite the addition indeed. They weren’t my choice, though. My superior saw fit that I could best perform my tasks at work with the instalment.”

“What _tasks_ require one to possess treads like _these?”_

Damus shrugged, his amused smile never wavering. “Nothing terribly strenuous. Just repetitively transporting items over rugged terrain. No need to worry your dear spark.”

Orion chuckled at the ‘dear spark’ comment and took another sip of his drink. 

The evening continued on like this – Orion Pax and Damus chatting about the little things in life as well as some deeper topics such as ones position in this universe and what it truly means to _live_. Orion was relieved that Damus wasn’t the type of mech to give other bots trouble simply because of their caste. It made conversing with him all the more fascinating – getting to hear what life is like on the other end of the caste spectrum, and being assured and reassured that all questions were welcome. He reminded Orion so much of Megatronus, but Damus was slightly different. Where Megatronus had an aura about him that demanded attention and respect, Damus’s EM field felt much more at ease while retaining not so much of a demand for attention as a referent magnetic pull. 

Orion understood, of course, why Megatronus felt the way he felt – being in metaphoric shackles until recent, Megatronus couldn’t help but have an extra pair of optics in the back of his head, which naturally served to make him play offense with the majority of those he has contact with. Although Orion never blamed his friend for acting with such offending tendencies, it was nice to meet someone of (what Orion assumed) the same caste as the gladiator who had a different perspective. It opened a window to new opportunities for questions he wouldn’t dare ask Megatronus in fear of them triggering a bad memory or touchy subject.

In the midst of their conversation, Orion discovered that Damus knew of his gladiator friend judging by the way his optics lit up with excitement when he’d mentioned Megatronus fleetingly.

“He’s _the_ source of inspiration and awe when it comes to us lower castes. Truly a stylist-wielding knight.”

“Ah, you’ve read some of his works then?”

“No, I haven’t had the pleasure with the way my schedule has been as of late. From what I’ve heard and as far as rumors go however, it’s hard to believe he was ever a minor in the first place with his way of cunning, calculative words.”

“You should read up on some of his works when you get the chance. You’ll find that the rumors – though slightly overly dramatic – hold truth.” Orion mused.

Damus emitted a light chuckle before glancing to the side with a nervous sigh. “I, ah, do not have access to many data pads – those I do have access to are strictly for work usage.”

Orion hummed on thought before remembering the items he’d stowed in his subspace prior to coming out for the evening. Opening it, he rummaged around as Damus watched with curious optics. A few nano-klicks passed before Orion uttered a successful _‘ah-ha!’_ and produced a flat, rectangular object. Closing his subspace, the archivist looked back up at Damus, whose expression hadn’t changed. It was a smaller data pad, granted. One normally used for personal book collections and files. Orion had only downloaded two or three articles on this particular data pad from his main monitor back at the Hall, and was really only carrying it around tonight in case he wanted some idle reading material. Other than the fact that it was smaller than average, it was perfectly functional and capable of holding up to 120G of data, which was more than enough for a mech like Damus whose interest mainly lied in the standard digital document form that Megatronus published his works on. 

There was a slight pause between Orion holding up the data pad and Damus taking it from his servos, studying the pad that appeared slightly smaller in his grasp compared to the archivist’s. Damus gave Orion a confused look that read _‘what am I supposed to do with this?’_. Orion stirred his drink before speaking to break the quickly forming silence.

“I have a vast number of these quaint little pads back at the Hall. It wouldn’t hinder me in any way shape or form for me to give you this one, especially when I know it will be put to good use.” He said, bringing one of the titanium leafs to his lips to taste the sweet and sour metal treat.

Damus stared blankly at the pad, blinked, and gave Orion the same stare.

“You don’t have to do this, you realize.”

Orion’s already existing smile widened. “Megatronus said the same thing when I managed to collect an upwards of 89 of those pads for him and his growing followers. I always did believe that knowledge is the ultimate power.”

“Can’t argue there.” Damus said, switching on the pad and scrolling through its various features. “This is… words cannot express my gratitude.”

“It’s just a data pad, Damus.”

“To _you_ , perhaps.”

Orion felt a twinge of culpability, forgetting momentarily the vast gap in caste rank between them as a result of the tankformer being that good of company. “Ah, yes. My apologies.” His antennae swiveled backwards, a physical display of guilt that Damus no doubt saw.

Upon seeing it, Damus immediately reprimanded himself, also forgetting for a moment in his own mind that for Orion, being in this city as he is must be nerve wracking enough with all the glares he must have gotten on the way to this bar. The archivist certainly didn’t need an extra comment reminding him of those glares. He placed a servo on Orion’s shoulder, trying his best to comfort him and show he has no malice intent towards him. Not expecting the contact, Orion flinched slightly before looking up at Damus with a quizzical expression. 

“The fault is _hardly_ yours, Orion. Simply an implicated thought process brought about by the Functionalists.”

“Still.” Orion grasped both his knee joints with his servos, his guilt expanding from a mere twinge to a much heavier feeling. “One tends to forget how good they have it compared to others if they do not take the time to look beyond their home city walls.”

“And the only reason why there is such a large void in wealth and the state of lifestyle in the _first place_ is because of the _utter dolts_ who have the sheer audacity to think some bots stand _above_ others because of their forms function.”

“Even so.”

Damus decided right then that he didn’t like the look of despair on Orion’s faceplate. Even if the archivist wasn’t at fault in his eyes, for the sake of relieving Orion of his guilt, Damus decided to ‘forgive’ him.

“No harm done, Orion. I assure you.” Damus said, giving his shoulder a light pat before removing his servo entirely, not wanting the touch to feel invasive.

They sat in silence once more. Damus turned forwards in his seat and hummed along with the light rift accompanied by soft beats playing in the background while Orion stirred what remained of his drink, his optics focusing anywhere but the tankformer next to him. Orion knew he shouldn’t feel belittled, but he did. It’s the same kind of feeling he felt when he met Megatronus for the first time. Though he managed to overcome it after talking more and more with the gladiator, it always had a way of ebbing at the edges of his consciousness. This begged the question of _why_ Orion was experiencing this belittlement from talking with a mech who, from a first impression, seems much more approachable and easygoing than his gladiator ally?

“You seem tense. Is my presence… disarming to you?” Damus said, as if he’d answered Orion’s question.

“I’d be lying if I said both your mass and your voice _didn’t_ invoke a fraction of intimidation for a mech such as myself, Damus.”

“Ah. You wouldn’t be the first.” He said, a light chuckle gracing his tone. “Though in this specific scenario, I wish they didn’t.”

“And in other scenarios?”

“Despite the fact that I’m not the cold brute most make me out to be, because most think that I do not receive nearly as much harassment as others who share a caste ranking with me.”

Orion hummed, considering Damus’s words. “A blessing and a curse, would you say?”

“That pretty much sums it up.”

“I see. I can attest to a similar feeling.”

“Oh?”

“My own job. It would be looked upon as a safe haven to those less fortunate as I. And yet…” Orion paused, unsure if he was in the position to complain in front of a mech who matched the very description of “one who’s less fortunate than himself. The weighted servo returned to his shoulder plating, but this time instead of flinching, Orion was grateful for the grounding feeling it caused.

“And yet it isn’t nearly as satisfying as you’d like what you do for the rest of your days to be?”

Orion’s laugh had a touch of melancholy, his own servo timidly reaching up to rest atop Damus’s. “Precisely.”

**Author's Note:**

> I always find it fascinating and frustrating to explore a ship that I don't personally ship, haha. More chapters to come (one or two more, that is). Those who DO ship Damus/Tarn and Orion TEACH ME HOW IT WORKS!!!! Cuz I'm outta my element here.... XD


End file.
